


Boldly, Not Wrathfully

by Pleonasms



Series: Make You Feel [1]
Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Adult Themes, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, I'm real bad at summaries, I'm so sorry, Plot What Plot, Slow Burn, pre-Renegade KG story, the love story nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pleonasms/pseuds/Pleonasms
Summary: In which two people take a leap of faith.





	1. Don't Get Familiar

Ashelin lingered over her report, the light of her workstation the only thing left glowing in the office. The metallic quiet of the dark Headquarters, instead of sharpening her focus like usual, now made her feel isolated and subdued. She typed a single line and then stopped. Her fingers played idly over the keys while searching for words.

The quiet closed in on her like static, and her mind wandered.

It went places she rarely visited, moved through memories and scenes she barely acknowledged out of the mixture of embarrassment and pure _thrill_ they made her feel; hazy neon lights, roaming hands, heady, overwhelming closeness.

She felt her face flush somewhat, and she started typing rapidly again.

 _Maybe we just need to get to know each other_ , he’d said.

It wasn’t the words; in a different time and place and with different people, they would have held almost nothing besides a dull, chaste interest in becoming more familiar. Friendly almost.

It was _how_ he said them that made her equal parts furious and riveted. Like he was laughing at her, at the irony of words that had history only for her and how he made her life a living hell for six weeks. Like something so simple could be some kind of clean slate, like getting to know each other better would make that all go away. Like they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other a week ago at that club, alone in a sea of nameless people who melded together around them in time with the beat, lost in the smokey murk.

She finished the report, transferred it to a disk, and stood up from her desk. After dropping it off in Intelligence, Ashelin used the elevator to go up to the third floor to leave this section of Headquarters. As it just so happened, her path took her by First Legion. She paused, peering in through glass doors etched by laser to read “FIRST LEGION, BOLDLY NOT WRATHFULLY” with the Baron’s Seal bisected by a stylized ‘1.’

Over the top of the cubicle walls, she could see yellow light still pouring out from the Captain’s office on the far end of the office. First Legion’s previous Marshal had met an unfortunate end when his convoy was attacked by Metal Heads three days ago. In the absence of more experienced leadership – few ranking veterans of the Metal Head Nest raid still survived – and because the Legion’s Lieutenant had won himself the Baron’s favor, Torn suddenly found himself becoming the youngest Marshal in Krimzon Guard history.

He had been in to work early and left late every day since, doing the work of two people. Poster boy Torn might have been, but Praxis had a penchant for mistreating his favorites to flush out the weak. Regulation did not allow more than one Lieutenant in place per Legion, and Torn wasn’t a Captain yet. Let the Baron talk all he liked about rewarding those who worked hard for him. Torn was going to be on his own for a while, and his fate walked a tightrope between success and failure.

Two paths diverged in a wood before Ashelin, and, oh, to hell with it. She took the road less traveled. The door swung away from her on well-oiled hinges, barely making a whisper over the tiles. Somewhere above her floating in the nebulous dark, she watched herself cross the office.

Her even steps warranted a lot less reaction from him than she expected. He barely looked up when she came to a stop in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.

“The fuck are you doin’?” he muttered absently, eyes only for the logistics holo screen in front of him. His mask sat on the corner of the desk, so Ashelin was able to just observe him for a moment. The first time they’d been allowed to see him was the day they all graduated from Officer Candidate Training. The day he had said he finally felt like he was able to look them in the eye and know they wouldn’t be getting themselves or his men killed. The four years since then had only tempered the steel in his eyes, and despite the dark circles under them, she knew this was where his ambition thrived, here where he had all the power.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your promotion,” she said. He looked at her again, a little longer this time. She couldn’t read his expression.

“Thank you. Now, what the fuck are you doin’ here?”

“I saw your light still on,” she replied, shrugging lightly with one shoulder. “And, Lieutenant to Lieutenant –” She watched his eyes narrow just ever so slightly. “—you’re going to run yourself into the ground if you keep working like this.”

For a moment, she thought he might throw her out. She could tell her familiarity was jarring to him, caught as he was between being the same rank as her on paper but holding the authority of an officer many years ahead of him. Instead of leaping to his feet and yelling at her, though, he just smirked.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me, I see,” he said, turning back to the screen.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t play coy. It’s not like you,” he said casually. Too casually. “I mean…” He scrubbed at his face, lingering to massage his eyes with his fingertips a moment. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” he repeated, stoic again apart from some added annoyance in his tone. “Go home. It’s late.”

Ashelin felt herself relax, and a great rush of …well, something. Something that made her almost victorious. She lingered a moment before pushing herself away from the door.

“Good night, Lieutenant.”

All she received in return was a noncommittal grunt, but she could feel his eyes on her as she left.


	2. Unfold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time they found themselves alone, Ashelin had not expected it.

“I see Oh-Captain-My-Captain seems to have bailed once again.”

Kenth carefully sat down a quintet of foamy pints onto the table before sliding onto the bench with a grunt. His bulk filled up most of the seat, forcing the diminutive Jeter to scoot over or be crushed. Across the semicircle booth, Ashelin, Cass, and Nora accepted their mugs without much comment. A space at one end of their secluded section was conspicuously empty.

Every third weekend of the month, this particular posse of KG would throw on plain clothes and venture out into Main Town to Dredge’s for drinks and revelry. It was generally frowned upon by the older members of the Guard to be out in public out of armor; the main goal was to keep oneself set apart from the general populace, to present a unified symbol of the Baron’s authority. To keep them guessing if there were actual people under those masks.

“Would you be caught out on the town with likes of us if you were a Captain?” Jeter asked. He had to almost lay across the table to reach one of the drinks and still Kenth had to slide one towards him before he could get a hand on it.

Cass took a long drag on his cigarette. He and Ashelin graduated from the same Officer Candidate class. “Yeah, it’s not like people are going to recognize him,” he said, exhaling the smoke out through his nose as he spoke.

Ashelin watched Kenth to gauge his reaction. Kenth was Torn’s contemporary; in fact, their monthly gathering had been his and Torn’s idea, started way back when the two of them were newly enlisted. Torn cut a deal with the owner that if he kept it quiet, Torn would make sure the club got an extra cut of Eco for their lights. Kenth still doesn’t know how he managed to do it, but it had been almost ten years and still no retribution. Ashelin had a hard time believing Torn would actually break a rule, much less bribe a merchant, but she still knew next to nothing about the man. Again, _maybe we just need to get to know each other_ ran through her mind, and tonight, it rankled.

Kenth grimaced wryly, hefting his drink. The small gesture managed to age him more than the last decade in the Guard had. “Well. I guess he doesn’t want to run the risk,” he muttered, a little too bitterly for someone who was talking about his best friend. It wasn’t long after their deal with the club owner that Torn got picked up for a commission; Kenth didn’t.

“It’s different, I suppose, with all those tattoos,” Nora said playfully, elbowing Cass. The two chuckled at each other; Nora, like Cass, was a Ghost and had no tattoos. Either of them could blend into a crowd like geckomeleons, hence their nonchalance. Nora was Cass’s mentor and another of Torn’s peers. Ashelin had a suspicion that they were more than just teacher and student, but she kept that to herself. She wondered if Torn would agree.

The other three responded with a blend of good natured groans and eye rolls. Their conspicuousness was often the butt of the spies’ jokes, and that would likely never change. Ashelin didn’t comment on how she was the only one at the table now with officer’s tattoos, and neither did the others.

“He’s been in Admin every other day sticking it to the clerks about getting the promotion on paper,” Jeter said suddenly, cradling his mug with both hands. The small man worked as Kenth’s enlisted second-in-command in Personnel. Ashelin watched Kenth’s jaw work as he ground his teeth in response.

“Makes sense. With him still a Lieutenant, he’s running First Legion solo,” she cut in before he spoke. “That’s a hell of a job even with two people.”

“That doesn’t mean he needs to take it out on my team,” Jeter replied sharply. A look of dismay crossed his face suddenly. “I’m-I’m sorry, ma’am! I didn’t mean—”

Ashelin found herself smiling. “You don’t have to worry about getting in trouble here, Jeter. Just don’t let it happen at work,” she said, pointing a sarcastic finger at him. His uneasiness lightened a little but he fidgeted with his drink nervously all the same. “But I think we can all agree Torn probably won’t be attending next month’s gathering.”

Cass leaned over to nudge her with his shoulder, waggling his eyebrows at her. “So, are you jealous yet, Ashe?” he asked.

“About what?”

“About Torn’s affair with his work, and how he won’t have time to flirt with you here anymore,” he replied cheekily.

Ashelin responded in the only way she knew how – by punching Cass in the arm. _Hard_. The others at the table laughed while Cass clutched his arm in pain. Ashelin smirked in spite of herself but couldn’t hold back the heat rising in her face at how right he was.

-//-

The second time they found themselves alone, Ashelin had not expected it.

She hefted a rifle over one shoulder as she walked into the Armory after a late night training session. The cold air from the vents washed over her as she stepped inside, still sweating from the last shooting course. The door to the cleaning room was open when came to it; the smell of gun oil floated out to her. She wondered idly who else would be here this late. To her pleasant surprise, she walked in to find Torn bent over a disassembled pistol.

“You come 'round here often?” she asked, putting a hand on her hip. Internally, she grimaced. _Wow, of course he’s fucking around here often. Great start, Ashelin_ , she muttered to herself.

She couldn’t tell if his face betrayed either astonishment or embarrassment. Or both. He straightened up slowly, wiping his hands on a rag. Like her, he wore a red and blue coat and pants; his coat, though, lay on the cleaning bench, leaving him in just a red long sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed up. “Uh. Yeah, I guess,” he replied lamely. His eyes took her in for a moment before he seemed to remember himself and turned back to wiping down gun parts. “Get some night training in?”

Ashelin cleared her throat awkwardly. “Yeah. The ranges are a lot less busy.” She took the spot across from him at the metal cleaning bench. “Mind if I borrow these?” she asked, pointing at the gun oil and cleaning cloths. He grunted once and pushed them her direction. She set to disassembling her rifle. The silence was awkward as they traded off glancing at each other while the other wasn’t looking. As her hands worked, Ashelin wondered what it was, why it was so hit-or-miss whenever they were in the same place. Why he had the gall to suggest that maybe they should get to know each other better then would never look her in the eye.

Maybe he had just been leading her on just to get under her skin. The mere thought was enough to make her angry right there and then, but she forced it aside. Guessing would only become more frustrating.

“So,” she started. He paused in connecting the slide to the pistol grip and looked up at her curiously. She avoided looking at him. She hoped she didn’t look as red as she felt she did. Good thing cleaning her rifle was just muscle memory at this point; it would keep her hands busy. “You said maybe we should get to know each other.” Silence. “The last time you actually came out with us to Dredge’s. Y’know? With your friends?” When she looked up at him, her stomach plummeted. Actual guilt had replaced the stoicism on his face.

“Well, I’ve been so busy, I—”

“Oh, no! That’s not…that’s, um, not what I’m getting at.”

Ashelin had to stifle a laugh at watching the Captain-select reprocess the last few moments of conversation. Then, revelation hit, and he released a relieved breath. “Oh, that,” he said suddenly, chuckling a little to himself as he ran through the motions on his gun to make sure it was back in working order. Ashelin froze; she couldn’t tell if he was laughing at himself, or by the Precursors, she’d come across this table with a mind to murder him if he was laughing at her. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

Torn reached to his right and pulled a stool over to perch on it. He slid his pistol to the side with its twin then set his hands – long and lean like the rest of him, Ashelin noted impulsively – on the table. “So,” he echoed. He stared at the table a moment and drummed his fingers. “The Baron’s daughter?”

“Hah! You’re really going to open up with that?”

He cleared his throat, spreading his hands helplessly. “Well, shit, what do you want from me? I know you’re working Investigations, you’re a better shot than me, uh, you hate people telling you what to do, you like your whiskey neat, and there’s exactly one song that you’ll get up and dance to. So tell me something I don’t know about you, then,” he challenged.

This time, Ashelin let herself a small victorious smile. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me, I see,” she said softly. Torn seemed to catch up to himself, wincing. He leaned towards her to rest his elbows on the table.

“It’s hard not to,” he admitted. Ashelin, heart in her throat, returned to cleaning her rifle.

“Something you don’t know about me…” She clicked her tongue lightly. “Hm. Doesn’t seem fair to spill my guts when you seem to know more about me than I know about you.”

“Not fair? You know plenty about me.”

“Like what? Besides the fact that you can put together a gun faster than anyone else, or know way too much about things like gangs and how they work?”

“Pshh, anybody can do that.”

“Which is exactly my point. _You_ tell _me_ something I don’t know about you.”

How anybody managed to look angry but smile good naturedly at the same time was beyond Ashelin, but Torn could do it. The lack of eyebrows probably helped, she figured. He released a feigned sigh of defeat.

“I know a lot about how gangs work because I ran into 'em a lot living on the street as a kid. Never officially, uh, joined, I guess, but I worked for a few for spare change.”

“That’s …certainly something I didn’t know.”

He chuckled. “It’s not something a lot of people know.”

“How did you end up KG, then?”

“Conscripted. Er, uh…I got caught being light fingered, if you will, and the judges figured a tour in the Guard would be ‘good for my character development.’” He gestured to himself with an ironic expression.

“Clearly _that_ didn’t work,” Ashelin replied with a laugh. He surprised her by actually laughing – not just a stern chuckle but an out-loud bark of a laugh. They lapsed into silence. This time, it wasn’t awkward. Ashelin finished up with her rifle just as Torn stole a glance at his wrist chrono. He swore softly.

“I ought to get going, or it’ll be another all-nighter.” Ashelin nodded once and took her rifle to its locker while he holstered his guns and shrugged back into his coat. He caught up with her at the door while her hand lingered on the light switch, and suddenly he was close to her, she could smell the gun oil on his hands and the hint of astringent soap he must shower with. “I, uh…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “You still think we should get to know each other?”

For the first time since that night at Dredge’s, Ashelin could read him, could see him look out from behind his wall of authority and professionalism and actually open up. From the nervous, half hopeful look on his face and how close he stood to her there in the door, she could practically feel his heart racing like hers was. She offered him a smile.

“I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told y'all this was gonna be slow burn. Hope you like it enough to stick with me!
> 
> Also, a gecko + chameleon = geckomeleon, because it's the Jak and Daxter universe, and all the animals are combo animals. Fight me.

**Author's Note:**

> Beginning chapters are pretty vanilla, but the rating will likely go up (yikes) All will take place before Jak 2 and before Torn leaves the KG.


End file.
